Page 25

I finish clawing my way through the threshold and dust my hands on my shirt before heading upstairs to the bath.

The bathroom door is covered in a gelatinous goo I can’t place (nor do I want to.) But neither can I grip the handle to get in.

Fine. That’s fine.

I make my way to the downstairs bathroom where there’s a shower that leaks relentlessly from rusty faucets. Tetanus is essentially a foregone conclusion at this point, but honestly you couldn’t pay me to care less. I NEED OUT OF THIS SWEAT.

I strip and stand beneath the showerhead, turn the tap and brace for a spray, but all I get is an uninspired dribble. Story of my life.

‘Fine. This. Is. Fine,’ I grind out between gritted teeth.

The sink taps won’t turn on, and as if Walker is unwilling to take any chances, he’s even drained the toilet water. Which I most definitely would not have considered…

No wash for Miller. At least not here.

I had to walk to the river in the Bantom Forest. The possessed chickens mistook the freckles on my arse for bird seed, but apart from having to sprint back to the house and fend off the rabid poultry from my poor behind, the experience was rather refreshing.

Freshly clean (albeit slightly cold from the frigid waters of the river), I snuggle down under my favourite blankey with a cup of tea and open my laptop with a content sigh. No signs of Walker. Hell must be in much disarray going so long without its evil overlord.

‘I vould luff to get to know Stacey P. more, she reminds me of my dear departed Elisapeth.’

I’m up to the third season of The Vampire Vants a Vife, and the vampiric drawl of Vlad is calling to me through the screen.

This is nice. I smile to myself.

I take another sip of the chamomile I brewed when I got home. A twist of lemon and dash of honey doesn’t go amiss. I can feel it warming me from the inside out.

This is really nice.

It’s raining outside. The candle at my bedside incenses the air with a burnt-orange scent and casts flickering shadows against the wall, like it’s dancing to the weather’s drumline.

This is… too nice.

My eyes flit around the room, waiting for the asshole of all ghosts to jump-scare me. But the room is blessedly quiet aside from Vlad’s sexy villainous accent talking about who he’ll take for his vampire bride. Personally, I’d go with Stacey T. purely because she’s a light-binder that could totally change the game for him day-walking wise, but Stacey P. has a huge⁠—

An alarm blares from above me. I see a wisp of shadow-like smoke disappear, followed immediately by a torrent of ice-like rivulets that spray directly at me, spurting from the ceiling.

A surprised gasp sucks through the gaps of my teeth. I quickly wrap my blanket over my laptop and phone, blessedly saving my only lifelines. I toss them in the closet and look for some sort of off-switch to the northern downpour currently desecrating my nest.

I’m soaked. The mattress is soaked. And now I don’t have a bed to sleep in.

I’m going to fucking kill him. Twice.

I open my door to nearly run through the sassy poltergeist haunting me. I stumble back into the spray of the sprinkler system and the bastard’s lip twitches as if he’s withholding a smirk.

‘Turn it off.’

Walker flicks a speck of non-existent dust from his suit. ‘Not my forte.’

‘Stars, you’re an asshole.’

‘Yes,’ he says like he’s confirming with a toddler that the sky is blue.

My hands ball into fists at my sides; I can feel my ears getting hot.

He notices.

‘That’s cute.’ He nods at my crimson-stained ears.